


Common Ground

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Hank/Connor/Sixty, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Sexual Interfacing, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22871380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: Connor and Sixty have been fighting over Hank since they first moved in with him after the revolution. Connor's approach has been more romantic, Sixty's more, uh ...provocative.But despite the androids' differences, Hank is sure he can help them find some common ground.Or at least, a common interest.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60
Comments: 16
Kudos: 114





	Common Ground

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my 700-follower giveaway on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/AdmiralLiss) The winner was [Hazel](https://twitter.com/chcrliecox), who is just... AWESOME. And they requested this fic for their friend [camtoniac](https://twitter.com/camtoniac). Along with being a lovely friend and a great person, Hazel has also been SO sweet and patient as I took 6,000 years to write this. So! Thank you, Hazel!!!! <3
> 
> Note: I took liberties with android anatomy here, in the "multiple orgasms" department and the "basically a fleshlight inside the ass" department and the "interfaces probably don't work like that" department. So don't @ me. It's all for the sexytimes.

Red and white carnations, purple aster starbursts, tendrils of honeysuckles dancing in the sunset glow of the kitchen window, and bright marigold globes, perfectly arranged in the delicate glass vase. Hank didn’t actually know the names of any of these flowers, only that the look of them was pleasant, and their origin a mystery. He glanced around the house as if expecting someone to leap from the shadows, and tossed his keys on the table.

Connor and Sixty were gone to their weekly android support group for the evening, but one of them must have stopped by the house on the way to drop these off. Though, in theory, either android could have deposited the bouquet, Hank hazarded a guess that the flowers must have belonged to Connor. 

So, had someone given them to Connor? Or was Connor leaving them for _Hank_ ? It was a blessing neither Connor nor Sixty were here -- because it meant Hank could puzzle this out without the distraction of his _very_ distracting roommates.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Hank snapped a photo of the vase, and sent it immediately to Jen. She had always loved flowers -- one of the many failings of their marriage, as Hank hadn’t often made the effort to buy her a bouquet. With the picture, he sent a message.

_You know all that flower shit. What the fuck do you think this means?_

It had been months since they’d texted, but the nice thing about Jen was that whenever they talked, it was like no time at all had passed.

_Those for you?_ She sent back, with a little skeptical emoji that made Hank snort.

_Dunno. Theyre on my table_

_Damn. Aster, marigold, carnations? I think someone has a secret admirer. Lemme guess. Connor?_

Hank scoffed, shoved his phone back into his pocket, and approached the vase. It was tied around the belled end with a satiny white ribbon, and it wasn’t until Hank tugged idly at the ribbon’s end that he realized a small tag had been tucked beneath it. Eyes narrowing, he gently pulled the tag from its hiding place. 

_For Hank_

_All my love, Connor_

Huh.

* * *

The flowers weren’t the first time -- far from it. Since Connor had moved into Hank’s home mere days after the revolution with nowhere else to go, he had been … affectionate. Sometimes so affectionate that Hank wondered if he was making up for lost time -- feeling those tender emotions more strongly than he might otherwise, compensating for the forced callousness of his programming. 

But, well … Hank couldn’t pretend he didn’t like it.

_A silver sliver of light glints over Hank’s eyes, and he turns from the sunrise out his window, burying his face into his pillow. But it isn’t the sun that woke him. Two more knocks sound against the door. “Lieutenant, may I come in?” Hank grunts something like a yes._

_The door creaks on its hinges as Connor shoulders it gently open, and suddenly a smell overtakes Hank’s senses. Bacon. Eggs. Coffee. Hank tilts his head, cracks open his eyes…_

_And Connor is standing there, gleaming in the morning light that now seems to flood the room, as if summoned from the night by Connor’s soft smile. He’s carrying a tray, piled high with Hank’s favorite breakfast foods, a little scarlet carnation poking out of a small vase on its corner. Connor must see the question in Hank’s sleepy expression._

_“For you,” Connor says. “For… for letting me stay here.” His cheeks flush._

_And he’s_ beautiful.

Every morning after that first, Connor would make Hank breakfast. Beyond that, he’d offer to walk Sumo when Hank had had a long day, bring him coffee at the station when Hank looked tired. And he’d hug Hank like they’d hugged that morning outside the Chicken Feed, sometimes an expression of comfort, sometimes just… because.

_Hank hefts himself from the couch, his back aching. “Gonna call it a night,” he mutters, and Connor looks up at him. “Wait--” Connor says, but catches himself, like he didn’t mean to speak. Hank turns to him anyway, his eyebrow rising. Connor’s LED goes yellow. “I just…” he stands, straightens his button-down shirt like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, averts his eyes from Hank’s._

_“What’s up, Con?”_

_The nickname seems to encourage Connor, who lifts his eyes to Hank. They’re doe-brown and big and entreating. “Can I…?” Connor doesn’t finish the sentence, but he holds out his arms lamely. It takes a moment for Hank to understand, but when he does? Warmth pools in his chest._

_“Yeah,” he says, and he takes a step forward, wrapping Connor up into his arms. “Yeah.”_

_Connor buries his nose against Hank’s shoulder, breathes him in -- though Connor doesn’t need to breathe._

_“Good night, Hank,” he says quietly._

It was druglike, really, the way Connor doted on him. Hank hadn't been so cared for in -- well, _ever_ , if he were honest. And with each passing day he grew more and more attached to the feeling. To Connor. To the possibility of what might come from this.

Things changed, when Sixty moved in. Sixty -- Connor's counterpart, RK800 Mark 60 -- had been repaired, recovered from Cyberlife tower at Hank and Connor's insistence. And damn if the poor thing didn't deviate out of fear for his life the second he became conscious. Hank took him in out of pity, in a way. But also because he figured he owed the guy, seeing as he shot him in the head and all.

He invited Sixty, with nowhere to go and scared out of his wits, to live here too. But in the months that passed, it had begun to feel more and more like a mistake. Not because he didn't like Sixty. Far from it; Hank grew to like Sixty a little too much. But there was friction between the two androids, and Hank wasn’t stupid. He knew he himself was the cause of it.

Sixty, though he couldn’t be called ‘affectionate’ the way Connor could, was touchy. He liked to come up behind the couch and squeeze Hank’s shoulders, nuzzle his face into Hank’s hair. Where Connor might cook Hank meals or walk his dog, Sixty expressed his gratitude with what Hank could only call torture; he walked around in his boxer briefs, stretched languidly on the couch and settled his feet in Hank’s lap.

_Connor’s in the kitchen doing dishes when Sixty walks out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but the hoodie he must have just nabbed from Hank’s closet: Hank’s old DPD sweatshirt, so big on Sixty’s narrow frame that the sleeves hang down to the center of his palms, his lithe fingers curling around the hems._

_He strides into the room like he knows Hank’s watching, like he knows that the Gears game on TV -- that moments ago had Hank enthralled -- has become nothing but a blur in Hank's periphery. He wanders over to Hank’s record player, just in Hank’s line of sight, and begins to casually flip through Hank’s albums, one long, tantalizing leg cocked casually._

_Hank tries not to look, he really does, but Sixty pulls a record from its sleeve, holds it aloft to the light, and the sweatshirt rises, revealing the curve of his buttocks. Smooth and pale as two half-moons. Hank swallows, hard, and Sixty turns to him._

_Fucking advanced prototypes. Connor’s like this too. He can always tell what Hank’s thinking when Hank most wants to keep his thoughts to himself._

_Sixty smiles, perfect white teeth shining in the blue light of the TV. “Enjoying the view, Hank?” He asks, a hand coming to his hip, where he hikes up the sweatshirt just… just a little. Just enough, a few inches of skin revealed to Hank’s wandering eyes._

_The sweatshirt is tented slightly at Sixty’s groin. He’s_ hard _._

_In the kitchen, the sink shuts off, footsteps make their way into the living room -- and then stop. Hank turns back to the TV immediately, turning up the volume. But even without looking he can see Connor, standing frozen there in the doorway as Sixty lowers the sweatshirt and turns, nonchalant, back to the record player._

Each time Hank indulged in these touches, leaned into Sixty’s hands and encouraged him, Connor’s LED would spin red. So, it seemed, Connor redoubled his efforts, made Hank candlelight dinners and sent him sweet notes over the station messenger at work, peeking over his computer monitor to give Hank a warm smile. 

But, well, the flowers were new. And that word? ‘Love’? _That_ was new, too.

* * *

Hank didn’t mention the flowers when Connor and Sixty got home later that night, though the vase remained sitting proudly on the kitchen table where Connor had apparently left it. Hank had spent his own evening relaxing in front of the TV, Sumo snoring soundly at his feet. Hank relished the few hours of quiet he had to himself anymore.

But of course the silence shattered the moment the two androids walked through that front door, bickering loudly like they always did. 

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” Connor snapped as the door slammed shut behind them. Though he and Sixty had the same voice, Hank could always tell which was speaking. None the least in this instance because Sixty had much more creative insults up his sleeve than 'rude.' 

“I wasn’t rude. I was blunt,” Sixty huffed. Two _thunks_ sounded against the wall, like he’d kicked off his shoes violently. Hank didn’t even turn around, just lifted his beer to his lips and took a long drink. 

“You clearly don’t understand the purpose of a support group. They’re going to kick us out if you act like that again.”

“Good, I don’t like going anyway.”

A hand landed on the back of the couch, and Hank tilted his head up to look at Sixty, who -- in an instant -- had lowered himself into Hank’s personal space. “I’d rather stay here with Hank,” Sixty murmured. A darkness overtook the android’s eyes, and Hank’s grip tightened around his beer bottle. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take; the relentless flirtation, the way Sixty looked at him. 

But he wasn’t about to let on. The last thing he wanted to do was cause even more tension between Sixty and Connor, when they were already (perpetually) on the verge of a blowout.

“Sounds like you two had fun,” Hank muttered, and Sixty chuckled, climbing gracefully over the couch to fall onto the cushion at Hank’s side. 

Hank could almost hear Connor roll his eyes as he rounded the sofa and knelt to pat Sumo’s head. “Hardly,” he grumbled, and Hank’s lips quirked.

Murder machines or not, they could be cute, the two of them. 

Connor lifted his eyes to Hank’s, a genuine, if strained, smile rising on his lips. “Did you have a nice evening, Hank?” He asked. And maybe there was an unspoken question in there. Maybe he wanted to know if Hank liked his flowers. Hank felt his expression soften.

“Yeah, I did,” he said gently. Connor beamed as if he heard the answer in Hank’s voice. The warmth. 

The moment hung between them briefly, but little stayed still in this house for long. In a moment, Sixty had shoved himself up against Hank’s side, forcing Hank to raise an arm so the android could snuggle in close. When Sixty’s hand fell to the center of Hank’s chest and his leg draped possessively over Hank’s thigh, Hank’s breath caught in his chest. 

“What’s gotten into you, snuggle bug?” Hank groused, though he couldn’t deny the pleasant heat of Sixty’s body against his own, the soft thrum of the android’s internal fans, and those deep brown eyes, just like Connor’s except when they weren’t. Right now they were narrowed in something like triumph. 

“Maybe I just like having your attention all to myself,” Sixty purred. The sound shot straight to Hank’s gut, and he stilled. Sixty could be forward, but the way his hand began to move in small circles over Hank’s chest, and the way he looked at Hank like a four-course meal … he seemed _intentional_ tonight.

“You always have my attention,” Hank breathed, and Sixty’s hand curled into Hank’s T-shirt, tight, as if he meant to rip it off. The thought of that was enough to cause Hank’s heart to speed up dangerously, and there was no doubt both androids heard it.

But even as he nearly lost himself in Sixty’s heat and touch and the warm dark of his eyes, he couldn’t forget Connor. Connor was always on his mind, ever-present. And currently? Hank turned to look at Connor just as Connor shot abruptly to his feet, his LED flashing red.

“Con?”

Connor and Sixty met eyes, and an expression of desperate fury overtook Connor’s usually sweet face -- an expression that Hank was becoming quite familiar with. Connor and his counterpart were always in some sort of battle, always pulling at the incessant tension between them. And right now, they stared at each other, their LEDs blinking rapid yellow as they communicated silently with each other.

“Why is he here, Hank?” Connor snapped suddenly, tossing a hand at Sixty. In retaliation, it seemed, Sixty snuggled in closer. Hank tried to sit up, but the android held him down -- hard.

“Same reason you are,” Hank said as magnanimously as he could, and he set his beer on the floor lest Sixty knock it right out of his hands. “I wasn’t gonna let the two of you fend for yourselves after the revolution.”

“You didn’t even know him,” Connor returned harshly. “You knew me. We worked together. _He_ tried to _kill_ you.”

“And Hank shot me in the head,” Sixty said casually, his hand curling tighter in Hank’s T-shirt when he felt Hank stiffen. “Really, giving me a place to stay was the least he could do.” 

“Sixty has a point, Con,” Hank said with a half-hearted shrug. 

“Then why am _I_ here?” Connor asked, something defeated in his tone.

Hank stared at him, confused more than anything. They were partners -- of course Hank wanted Connor to be here. Connor had saved his life, multiple times. And Hank had saved Connor. Then the both of them had saved Sixty, in a way, and it just seemed right. To have all three of them here. 

“That’s a good question,” Sixty snipped before Hank had a chance to form his thoughts into words. “Why _are_ you here?”

Connor’s glare deepened, his eyes darkened, and he stalked off past the couch, down the hall. Hank tried to shove Sixty off, shouting “Con!” to get Connor to stop for just _one second_ and hear him out. But Sixty rolled onto Hank’s lap before he could move, straddling his thighs and pinning him in place.

“Damnit, Sixty,” Hank barked, “what --”

But the rest of Hank’s sentence -- and most of his coherent thought -- disappeared the next instant. Sixty ground his hips down into Hank’s and Hank jolted, hands coming to Sixty’s chest to push him away. Though he didn't _actually_ push. “That’s it,” Sixty purred. He shoved Hank’s shoulders back against the couch, the power and strength of him, the pale column of his throat, the outline of his pecs under his own thin T-shirt causing arousal to churn in Hank’s gut. “Forget him, alright?” Sixty murmured, rolling his hips softly. It was a tease of a touch. “Forget Connor and his stupid flowers. You’ve got _me_.” He leaned in, parted his lips, and Hank just _sat_ there. Completely frozen with fear and white-hot indecision. 

“Hank...” Sixty whispered near Hank’s lips. It was the prelude to something. A dirty request, a suggestion, a proposition that had been waiting on the tip of Sixty’s tongue for weeks now, if Hank had to guess. 

A proposition Hank had wanted to take Sixty up on for just as long. If it weren’t for Connor, Connor’s obvious infatuation, the way Hank felt complete with Connor at his side, Connor’s presence in his home, he would have held Sixty down and fucked him the day he first walked through that front door.

And if it weren’t for Sixty, the possessive way he kept Connor at a distance, the ever-observant glint of his dark eyes, the way he seemed to peek into Hank’s soul and see every shameful, dirty thought in Hank's head, Hank would’ve made his own propositions to _Connor_ a long time ago. 

The only reason Hank had never made a move? He wanted them _both_.

So in that instant before Sixty’s lips lowered to Hank’s, before Sixty could drug Hank with all the promise his perfectly engineered body contained, an idea -- a _solution_ \-- occurred to Hank with such stunning clarity, he wondered that it took him this long to figure it out. 

Hands on Sixty’s shoulders, he shoved the android back. Resolute, he met Sixty’s eyes. “Hey,” he said. “Not -- not now.” Sixty’s eyes widened at the implication. ‘Not now’ suggested that there would be a _later_. Hank pitched his voice lower. “Not yet.”

Sixty’s LED cycled yellow. “Soon?” He asked, fingers twitching where they rested on Hank’s chest, as if he were itching to grab and squeeze and manhandle Hank out of his clothes and onto his back. Hank forced the thought down. Just for a moment. Just long enough. 

“Yeah, baby. Soon.” 

Sixty’s lips quirked, that look of triumph returning to his face, and he rolled off of Hank, finally giving Hank the space to move. Hank didn’t waste a moment shooting to his feet, and without a glance back at Sixty (tempting devil that he was), Hank followed Connor’s path down the hallway. His heart was pounding, the heat and the pressure of Sixty remaining like a ghost along the front of his body, the suggestion and the desire giving Hank hope for later, thoughts for later. But not for right now. 

Because right now, he needed to talk to Connor. He needed to get all three of them on the same page.

Hank quickly rounded the corner into the bedroom, and his eyes fell immediately onto Connor. His shoulders were slumped where he sat dejected on the edge of Hank’s bed, hands clasped in his lap. His LED was flashing red, his eyes narrowed at a spot on the floor. 

“Con,” Hank said gently, but Connor didn’t look up. 

“It’s okay,” Connor whispered. Silence settled for a few moments, and Hank waited. It was all he could do. “It’s obvious, you know?” Connor continued eventually. “Sixty’s been trying to seduce you since he moved in, and I know how much you want--” he paused, LED flickering until it began to spin a restless yellow. “The way you look at him ... I don't want to get in the way of that. If you love him and not me, I understand, Hank.”

Hank took a couple tentative steps onto the carpet, approaching Connor gingerly. “You’re the one who got me the flowers,” he said. Connor, to Hank’s surprise, let out a hollow laugh. 

“Trying to romance you,” Connor muttered. “Trying to make my intentions obvious. Sixty’s good at that. I’m … not.”

Hank laughed in spite of himself, coming to sit beside Connor on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, Sixty’s about as subtle as a freight train, I’ll give you that.” 

“You like it, though,” Connor pointed out. There wasn’t really any sense denying it, considering Hank was still half-hard just from the thought of Sixty rutting up against him.

“I do,” Hank admitted. “But I like the flowers, too.” Connor lifted his eyes to Hank’s, finally, and Hank hoped in that moment that Connor could see the affection in his eyes. 

“I want to be with you, Hank,” Connor whispered. “Partners, friends, lovers … any way you’ll have me, anything you want me to be. And I know that Sixty wants to be with you, too.”

Hank scooted a little closer to Connor and knocked their knees together. “If you’d’a told me a year ago I’d have two gorgeous androids fighting over me, I’d have laughed you out of the room. Far as I can tell, this is the best thing that ever happened to me. Why’s it got you so upset?”

Connor straightened, stared deep into Hank’s eyes as if analyzing him, as if preconstructing every scenario that could manifest in the next few minutes. Maybe he was.

“Because you’ll choose him,” he said as if it were a certified fact. “He’s model 60, nine models more improved than I am. He’s better than me in every way.”

“Bullshit,” Hank snorted. “You’re perfect the way you are. He’s perfect the way he is. This ain’t a matter of choosing anything. Least, it doesn’t have to be.”

Hank, slowly, cautiously, raised a hand to Connor’s cheek, resting it there and cupping the side of his face, fingertips grazing the edge of Connor’s LED. Connor’s lashes fluttered. Hank’s voice came out soft, slow. “I want to be with you, too.”

Hank didn’t intend to lean in, but he wasn’t upset when he found himself doing so, nor when Connor pulled close, too. Connor’s hand came to rest on Hank’s thigh, and he tilted his head, just in time for their lips to make contact. 

The kiss started chaste, soft and -- and _strange_ considering the relative coolness of Connor’s skin, but Connor let out a peep somewhere in the back of his throat and his hand clenched hard into Hank’s thigh, and then it wasn’t so chaste, after all.

Connor practically dove forward, plunging his tongue into Hank’s mouth as he tackled Hank back on the bed. The breath left Hank’s lungs at the impact, but when Connor straddled him and began to grind against him the way Sixty had mere minutes ago, Hank didn’t care if he ever breathed again. He tangled his hands in Connor’s synthetic hair and held him close, kissing Connor like he’d been thinking about it for weeks -- which he most certainly had. 

And Connor kissed Hank like he was starving for it, with all the passion and persuasion that Hank had come to associate with Connor’s younger counterpart. Maybe they weren’t so different after all, the two androids. Maybe they could find common ground in their common desires. Maybe Hank could _help_ them. 

Hank ran his hands down Connor’s back, smoothing down the fabric of his pressed button-down shirt, relishing the feeling of his faux muscles clenching as he rolled his groin against Hank’s rapidly growing erection. And when he cupped Connor’s ass and squeezed, Connor let out a strange, static noise in the back of his throat.

“Get undressed,” Hank whispered into Connor’s mouth, punctuating the command with a flick of his tongue along Connor’s bottom lip. Connor whimpered.

Hank expected some resistance, some hesitation. He didn’t know why, exactly, except that Connor had been so sweet and so traditional in his flirtations. Maybe he’d insist on a date or two before they hopped into bed. Maybe he’d be the ‘wait until marriage’ type.

But Connor was nothing at all if not surprising. “Okay,” he whispered, voice choked.

He rolled off Hank as quickly as he could and stood by the edge of the bed, ripped the shirt from over his head. His hands moved to the buckle of his pants before Hank sat up and rested a hand on Connor’s own. 

“Wait just a sec,” Hank said gently, then leaned around Connor to peek at the open doorway. “Sixty? Stop sneaking around and get in here.” 

Connor glanced over his shoulder as Sixty, looking only a little chagrined at having been called out, sauntered around the doorway where he’d clearly been hiding just out of view. 

From this angle, the yellow circle of Connor’s LED was on full display, but not for long. In a moment, Connor had turned back to Hank, and now both androids were looking at him with expressions of curious confusion. Maybe even expectation. 

“Listen,” Hank said, addressing them both. “I don’t want to draw this out any more than we gotta, and I don't want any more jealousy festering, alright? You two are the only good things to happen to me in … in _years_. I wanna keep both of you around, and I want you to get the fuck along for once." Looking at them, he couldn't be sure his message was landing. Their expressions remained inscrutable, their bodies still. They'd both made their intentions clear; the least Hank could do was offer them the same clarity. "And uh,” he patted his belly in a show of mock self-consciousness. “There’s plenty of me to share. So why don't both of you get out of those clothes and get over here.”

It would have been comical how the androids’ eyes widened in tandem, their expressions mirroring each other in every exact possible way. It would have been comical the way they turned to each other, LEDs flashing as they communicated something not meant for Hank's ears. But as Sixty stepped further into the room and Connor continued to unbuckle his belt, Hank felt too lucky to laugh. Too damn turned-on to find his good fortune funny.

Sixty pulled the T-shirt over his head just as Connor’s slacks fell to the floor, and Hank swallowed, scooting back on the bed so he could plant his feet on the floor and spread his legs wider. 

Sixty and Connor were perfectly formed, lean but well-defined, movement fluid in spite of the mechanical nature of their bodies. The only indication that they were androids at all? The rims of their thirium pump regulators sitting just under their chests, and their LEDs, both spinning blue at their temples. 

And as Connor stepped out of his underwear, his erection now standing proud, and Sixty stuck his hand down his pants to pump his own, Hank swallowed. “C’mere,” he muttered.

It seemed neither android needed to be told twice. Connor, closest to Hank, immediately crawled onto the bed, straddling one of Hank’s thighs as if leaving the other for his counterpart. He pressed down against the meat of Hank’s leg and leaned in, taking Hank’s lips in a vicious kiss. Hank hummed into the contact, lifting his leg to give Connor more friction, to encourage Connor to move against him. If Connor were human, the feeling of denim scratching at his scrotum might be a bit of a turn-off, but damn if Connor didn’t whine at the sensation of it, grinding down harder onto Hank’s leg. He brought a hand to Hank’s shoulder to steady himself, and he practically purred into Hank’s mouth.

Hank couldn’t help himself -- and he didn’t need to. With permission now to touch, to explore, he ran a hand up Connor’s smooth back, delighting in the touch and the way Connor’s body jerked at every new feeling. Hank was the first to touch him like this, Hank realized, a hypocritically possessive flare firing in his chest.

So consumed was Hank in the delight of Connor moving above him, that the introduction of another body almost startled him. Sixty, naked now too, climbed onto Hank’s other thigh and straddled it just as Connor did. And Hank spread his legs to give them room, so they could plant their knees right there next to his groin. Oh but the proximity was tempting, but Hank wanted _them_ to indulge, first. Hank wanted them to use his body however they needed, to learn that they could both have him, if they wanted him.

“Stop hogging him,” Sixty muttered darkly, and he grabbed Hank’s beard to tug him away from Connor’s kiss. 

Hank barely had a second to catch his breath before Sixty’s tongue was between his lips, exploring his mouth as if trying to taste every corner. Sixty let out a low groan as his fingers climbed the mass of Hank’s chest over his shirt. Connor’s weren’t far behind, and soon four hands were tracing the curves and valleys of Hank’s body, his collarbone, his nipples, his love handles, his belly. All the while, Connor and Sixty rolled in identical rhythm against his thighs, their erections nudging wet against Hank’s stomach each time they pressed up against him. 

And, oh, Hank wanted to shed his clothes -- to feel both of these beautiful creatures pressed up against him skin-to-skin, drinking him in. Connor licked a stripe up Hank’s neck, dipped his tongue behind Hank’s ear to taste the little hollow there, and Hank shuddered beneath them, one hand climbing Connor’s back and the other cupping the curve of Sixty’s thigh. Sixty ran hot, while Connor ran cool -- some difference in their construction, their internal preferences, and it gave Hank the most delicious whiplash to touch them both at once.

“See boys?” He croaked. “Plenty to go around.”

Connor hummed, nuzzling into Hank’s cheek as he tried to turn Hank’s head toward him again, his tongue darting out to taste Hank’s lips. But Sixty wasn’t about to give up control that easily. He, too, nipped and licked at Hank’s lips, both of them trying to claim Hank’s mouth for their own and tasting each other in the process. Hank’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest as Sixty growled something possessive and almost angry, turning to face Connor and fisting a hand in Connor’s hair. Hank was about to try to calm him when the androids’ eyes met. And something… shifted.

Their LEDs sparked yellow -- and like the embodiment of all of Hank's wet dreams, they lunged forward. Their hands left Hank's chest as Sixty grabbed Connor's hair and Connor held Sixty by the back of his neck, and their lips crashed together as they ground harder against Hank’s thighs. It looked desperate, angry, passionate, the way they bit at each other's lips and licked insistently into each other's mouths, and Hank's stomach dropped into his feet.

“Oh, holy shit,” Hank whispered. His erection had grown painful now, restricted by the hard fly of his jeans, and honestly if Connor and Sixty kept at it, he could come just from watching them. The way they moved as if they knew the others’ thoughts, the way their synthskin retracted where their lips touched, their white chassis showing through on their lips and chins and noses. And Hank noticed, then, the flashing yellow of their lights in the dim room.

They were _interfacing_.

That gave Hank an idea. 

He found the curve of Connor’s ass with his hand, palming it and kneading it with his fingers, and both androids whimpered as if they had both been touched. But it was when Hank’s fingers dipped into the cleft of Connor’s ass, finding him slick with synthetic lube already, that the two pulled apart as if they had been burned, twin gasps bursting from their white lips. 

“Hank,” Connor choked, fisting a hand desperately in Hank’s shirt as Hank circled Connor’s entrance with a teasing fingertip. Synthetic skin inched back over both androids’ faces, and Sixy glared openly at Connor.

“Hey,” Sixty snapped, “I want to feel!” 

Connor threw his free hand onto Sixty’s shoulder -- ostensibly to steady himself, but clearly that wasn’t the only reason. His fingertips began to turn white where they met Sixty’s retracting skin, and their LEDs started to flash yellow again. Sensing his opportunity, Hank slipped a finger inside Connor, and both androids twitched violently, their erections hardening against Hank’s thighs. Sixty’s eyes rolled back in his head. 

“That’s it, boys. Share,” Hank soothed, his other hand running down Sixty’s back to the dip of his ass. Synthetic lubricant was already leaking down _his_ thighs, too, just like Connor’s, wetting a spot on Hank’s jeans, and Hank swallowed as he fingered Sixty’s hole just enough to tease.

That static sound came out of Connor again, as Sixty closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Connor’s hand began to trail down Sixty’s arm, leaving a white line of disappearing skin in its wake, and Hank moved his hands in tandem, massaging the tight insides of their walls. 

“Beautiful,” Hank murmured, and he leaned forward to leave a small kiss on Connor’s shoulder. “Fucking gorgeous, both of you.” Then, a kiss to Sixty’s chest. 

Sixty, chasing friction, rubbed his length along Hank’s thigh, rocking forward into Hank’s belly and back into his searching finger. Connor twitched above Hank, his fingers, too, twitching on Sixty’s bicep, his eyelids twitching with the effects of the interface. And though he looked practically incoherent, Hank knew Connor could hear him.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” Hank whispered. He cocked his hand, slipped another finger into Connor’s ass, and Connor clamped down tight around him. “Let him feel it, too.” 

Keeping the interface going with his hand on Sixty’s arm, Connor managed to bring his other hand to his cock, hard and flushed blue with thirium. His fingertips skirted its length at first, as if he was afraid of the feeling, afraid it would be too much or feel too good. Hank reached deeper inside him, encouraging him, crooking his fingers. It seemed to do the trick. In seeming sudden desperation, Connor gripped himself tight, and Sixty moaned in pleasure, dropping his head to Hank’s shoulder. 

Connor began to move his fist up and down the length of his cock, his eyelids fluttering, but the movement was slow -- matched to the languid way Hank was fucking both androids with his fingers -- and it seemed _too_ slow for Sixty.

Fast as a whip crack, Sixty’s hand shot to his own cock, and he began to pump it furiously, rocking back onto Hank’s finger and whining, like it wasn’t enough. Hank slipped a second finger inside, then a third, and Sixty shuddered and fell against him. 

Connor’s LED flashed red and he yanked his hand from Sixty’s arm, reeling back and collapsing onto Hank’s thigh. He wilted slightly, but Sixty kept going, tugging himself off and clenching hard on Hank’s fingers. 

“Gonna come,” he choked, and Connor practically growled.

“St-- stop!” He grabbed Sixty’s hand -- the one circling his cock -- and the skin melted away from Connor’s fingers just as it melted from Sixty’s, both their eyes blowing wide. Sixty reared back, Connor made a guttural sound, and in a second white spurts of come shot out of their twitching cocks, spurting over their hands and Hank’s belly and soaking into his shirt. 

The way their holes clamped down around Hank’s fingers made him dizzy, and he clenched every muscle in his body as if to stem his growing arousal. But he was as hard as he could get, so much so that it _hurt_ , and as Connor and Sixty’s internal fans began to whir louder, as they blinked back whatever lingering effects the orgasm had on them, and their hands parted, Hank nearly came at the way they looked at him in tandem. Like two wolves on the prowl, starving and feral.

Hank pulled his fingers out of both of them, leaving a trail of synthetic lubricant down each of their thighs, and took a deep breath. “So you done fighting over me?” He asked. 

“We have a common objective, yes,” Connor breathed, his voice burning with quiet heat like glowing embers. 

“Which is?” 

Hank didn’t know why he asked. The answer was pretty obvious. Connor was the first to climb off Hank’s lap, followed closely by his counterpart. For the briefest moment, they stood there side-by-side, perfect mirrors of each other, both still hard as rods, lube dripping down their thighs. Then, as if enacting a plan they’d concocted right there as they came together on Hank’s lap, they moved forward in tandem. Connor knelt between Hank’s legs, and Sixty moved to the mattress, climbing up to Hank’s side.

“We need to see you,” Sixty purred, finding the hem of Hank’s shirt and lifting. 

“All of you,” Connor added. His hands roamed up Hank’s thighs, lingering briefly on the wet patches they both left behind on his jeans, but undoubtedly heading toward a single goal: Hank’s belt. 

“Don’t gotta ask me twice.” Hank lifted his arms so Sixty could peel the shirt off his back, tossing it somewhere at the foot of the bed. And the moment Hank’s skin was bared, Sixty seemed unable to stop himself from touching, cuddling in close like he had on the couch and rubbing circles into the center of Hank’s chest. He looked entranced. 

But then Hank’s attention was drawn to Connor, who popped Hank’s belt open with ease and moved onto Hank’s fly as if he were ready for _his_ treat, too. He palmed Hank for just a moment, LED flashing, eyes widening, then tugged the zipper down carefully over Hank’s bulge. 

The ease of pressure came as an immediate relief, and Hank sighed, leaning back on his hands and closing his eyes. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, and Connor nuzzled against his thigh as Sixty’s hand roamed over one of his nipples. He lifted his hips so Connor could get his jeans off, and thankfully Connor didn’t waste much time teasing. He tugged Hank’s jeans and boxers down to his ankles, and freed Hank of the last of his encumberment. 

Sixty moved slightly, just so his crooked leg could dangle off the bed, and Connor took the hint. As Hank cracked his eyes open and peered down the length of his body, he watched Connor take Sixty by the ankle, watched their skin melt away at the point of the interface, and while he _did_ expect something unbearably sexy to follow, he did _not_ expect Connor to lean forward like he did.

Without the hesitation Hank was used to when a partner first got an eyeful of his ten inches, Connor wrapped his lips around Hank’s head and sank forward like it was nothing, taking Hank to the root in one swallow. Hank groaned, tossing his head back, and Sixty’s fingers pinched his nipple as if in shock. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Sixty whispered, tucking his forehead against Hank’s shoulder. “Oh, you’re so big.” Connor sucked Hank down, pulled off and took him into his mouth again, laving his length with undivided attention. “You fill us up so well,” Sixty murmured. “You taste _so_ good.” 

And that’s when it hit Hank -- Sixty and Connor were _both_ sucking him off, in a way. Both of them felt the weight of him on their tongues. Both of them tasted the tang of his precome, felt every twitch and throb. This interface thing was a fucking miracle.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and he turned to Sixty, whose eyes were glazed over with the effects of the interface. “ _Fuck_.” Hank adjusted himself, balancing all his weight on one hand as the other went to climb Sixty’s thigh. The android shivered, and Connor whimpered around Hank’s cock as if in anticipation. 

The vibration felt -- _incredible_. Connor must have downloaded some protocols or done some kind of research because he tongued at the underside of Hank’s cock with just the right amount of pressure, tightened his lips and sucked gently enough not to overwhelm but hard enough to really, really feel it. And Hank wanted to return the favor. 

He leaned over, pressed a kiss to Sixty’s forehead, and took Sixty’s erection in his hand. Sixty gasped, both hands coming to grip Hank’s bicep as if to stop him, though Hank knew Sixty didn’t want him to stop. Connor didn’t want him to stop. 

Hank had big hands, rough and strong. He knew from decades of partners just how to use them, too. So he began to pump Sixty slowly, enjoying the way Sixty’s eyelids fluttered and Connor’s free hand clenched hard into Hank’s bare thigh. 

“You’re both doing so good,” Hank praised, his voice strained. God, but Connor’s mouth was going to do him in before too long. “So good for me.”

“We want to be,” Sixty cooed. “We want to be good for you. We need --” He bucked his hips gently into the pull of Hank’s fist, as if subconsciously chasing the friction. “Need to be good.” Precome beaded at the tip of his already wet cock, and Hank wondered in the vague fog of arousal how many times his partners could come in one sitting. 

Thankfully, they had all night to figure it out. 

Just then, Connor pulled nearly off Hank’s cock, sucking at the crown and running his tongue under Hank’s foreskin, and Hank shuddered, clenching his hand without meaning to. In tandem, both Connor and Sixty groaned, and Sixty dropped his head to Hank’s shoulder. 

Between Hank’s legs, Connor whimpered, and Hank looked down to see Connor gripping his own erection tight, tugging himself off as Hank worked Sixty’s cock in his own hand. He picked up his pace, a flutter of delight in his chest when Connor sped up to match, sinking again down the length of Hank’s cock and bobbing his head in time.

“You want to be good?” Hank choked out, posing a challenge to the two most competitive and driven people he’d ever met. It did the trick; Connor cracked his eyes open and met Hank’s heated gaze, and Sixty sank his teeth into Hank’s shoulder. “Then come for me,” Hank finished.

That was all it took. In his fist, Sixty’s cock twitched and throbbed. Against his shoulder, Sixty cried out. Between his legs, Connor’s throat rumbled around Hank’s shaft with a muffled groan, and soon the room flashed red with the LEDs gleaming at their temples. Come splattered over Hank’s hand, slicking his grip, and Connor’s mouth went slack around Hank’s cock. 

Hank kept pulling Sixty off as he surveyed his partners -- first Sixty, wilted at Hank’s side, his come-slicked cock still hard in Hank’s hand, his chassis showing through where Connor still gripped him tight at his ankle. Then Connor, his eyes closed, jaw hanging open with Hank’s cock stuffed between his lips, his cheeks stained blue with thirium. Both androids looked thoroughly wrecked, and the sound of their internal fans trying to cool them off created the most beautiful white noise. 

As Hank watched, more than a little pleased with himself and just about ready to come down Connor’s throat, Connor pulled off his cock and released Sixty’s ankle, the interface ending. Sixty let out a hot rush of air against Hank’s shoulder, and Connor -- Connor looked up at Hank, his eyes half-lidded. 

“You mind returning the favor?” Hank asked playfully, nodding to his erection. It stood tall and hard right in front of Connor’s face, and though Hank might gloat or pretend to be unaffected, he knew it would only take a few more bobs of Connor’s head to make him blow his whole load. 

Connor seemed unable to speak, but his hands did the talking. They returned to Hank’s thighs, and Connor used the leverage to lift himself to his feet. 

“We want to feel you,” Sixty muttered against Hank’s skin. 

“All of you,” Connor finished. 

Hank didn’t have a second to process what that meant before Connor had launched himself forward into Hank’s lap, shoving Sixty off to the side and the foot of the bed as he pressed himself line-to-line against Hanks’ chest and stomach. He took Hank’s hair in his hand and yanked Hank’s head back, lowering himself to steal Hank’s lips in a hard kiss. 

Hank grunted at the mixed pain and pleasure, tilted his head to take Connor’s tongue into his mouth. His hands came reflexively to Connor’s back, smearing the slick of Sixty’s come all over Connor’s smooth skin. It was wet, and messy, and the kiss was hard and rough, but as Connor lowered himself down to rub Hank’s cock against the cleft of his ass, one word entered Hank’s mind and repeated over and over and over again.

_Perfect._

_Perfect, perfect, perfect --_

“Fuck me,” Connor whispered hard against Hank’s lips, his body shuddering against Hank’s.

“Fuck _us_ ,” a voice corrected, and Sixty was back at Hank’s side, shoving him by the shoulder down onto the bed.

With his legs hanging off the side of the mattress, feet still planted on the ground, and one horny android in his lap, Hank tried to sit up to get a bit more control over the situation. But the _other_ horny android in this equation wasn’t about to let that happen. Sixty climbed gracefully onto Hank’s chest.

It was easy to forget the strength hidden in those lithe bodies, but Hank couldn’t forget it now. Connor pinned him at his hips, legs clamped down on either side of his body as he ground his ass against Hank’s cock. Sixty straddled Hank and pinned him at his shoulders, his own dick hanging blue-tinted and hard over Hank’s face. 

And though it went against his usual methods in bed, Hank found in that moment that if he were to cede control to anyone, it would be to these two. They’d had him overpowered from the beginning. He let his body go slack and stared up into Sixty’s deep eyes. 

“Like I said,” he sighed, “plenty of me to go around.”

Sixty smirked as Hank watched a hand land on Sixty’s shoulder. _Connor’s_ hand, re-establishing the interface. It was beautiful to watch it happen as the glaze came over Sixty’s eyes, knowing as his LED went yellow that Connor -- just out of Hank’s sight -- must look like this, too. Blissed out and swimming in some kind of liminal space made up entirely of feeling and connection. For a moment, Hank nursed a bit of envy that he couldn’t feel what they felt, that he’d never know what it was like to share pleasure with someone so profoundly.

But then Connor’s other hand came to Hank’s cock, lining it up with his entrance, still wet with lube, and Hank bit his lip at the feeling of Connor sinking slowly down onto him. He couldn’t share the feeling Connor and Sixty shared, but he could give them pleasure and take his own, and know he had gotten closer to them than any other human ever would or could. 

And that was the last coherent thought that passed through Hank’s mind as Connor slammed down onto his cock, taking him to the hilt and crying out while the streaks of a fresh orgasm splattered over Hank’s stomach. 

Immediately, Sixty doubled over with a groan, his untouched cock spilling over Hank’s face. And because Connor’s walls tightened and undulated around Hank’s cock as he came, Hank groaned too, trying to buck up into the feeling as the sterile-clean taste of Sixty’s spend dotted his lips. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Hank said through gritted teeth, his fists clenching into the bedsheets -- unable to move at all with the androids on top of him. “Jesus Christ, Connor. Did you come just from that?”

Connor rolled back onto him, pulled off a little, rolled again, and Hank whimpered with helpless need.

“Hank,” Connor whispered. “Oh, _Hank_.” 

Sixty’s hand came to Hank’s face, his thumb trailing over Hank’s cheek and drawing a line in his own come. 

“We’ve wanted to be full of you for so long,” Sixty murmured, and behind him Connor moaned in something like agreement. “Want to fill you up, too.”

Hank didn’t need an interface to get Sixty’s meaning. Sixty’s thumb hooked into the corner of Hank’s lips, and Hank opened his mouth wide, ready. His eyes fell shut, not because he didn’t want to see Sixty hanging over him with those foggy eyes and tight synthetic muscles clenching, but because if he watched this happen, he’d come the second he got his mouth around Sixty’s dick, and he wanted to make this last for them.

Sixty shuffled forward just enough, and guided his cock to Hank’s parted lips. 

Hank couldn’t lift his head for long in this position, so he tightened his lips around the head of Sixty’s cock and waited for Sixty to rut forward -- which he did immediately, hard, burying himself down Hank’s throat.

Hank gagged -- god it had been a while since he’d had his face fucked -- and Sixty pulled back, thrusting in more gently and nudging up against Hank’s cheek. Hank breathed through his nose, harsh spurts of air truncated by the heavy body sitting on his chest and the other riding his cock slow and sure and deliberate. 

He wanted his hands free so he could grip Connor’s ass where it slammed down against his hips. So he could trace the line of Sixty’s abdomen up to his chest, pinch a nipple while Sixty fucked his mouth. But instead he just fisted the bedsheets at his sides, his toes curling on the carpet, his whole body clenching every time Connor rolled down onto him. 

And he knew like this he wasn’t going to last long. Connor and Sixty’s internal fans were humming loudly now, almost cacophonous with the occasional spurts of Hank’s breath and the wet slap of skin on skin. And oh, they were making the most beautiful noises, besides. Static-tinged groans and tiny murmurs of Hank’s name, overlaid by octaves high and low and unlike anything he’d ever heard come out of their mouths. 

And he couldn’t help it: While he hollowed his cheeks around Sixty’s cock and sucked, running his tongue along the length, he opened his eyes.

Sixty was staring down at him, cupping Hank’s face in his hand, but he wasn’t _seeing_ Hank. With Connor’s hand gripping his shoulder so tight it seemed to buckle Sixty’s chassis, Sixty looked lost in the interface, in the feeling. 

“Hank,” Connor groaned, out of Hank’s sight but never far from his mind. “We want -- want you to come--”

“-- Inside us,” Sixty gasped, splaying his hand over his stomach because he could _feel_ Hank inside Connor, inside _him_. 

Something animal rumbled in Hank’s chest, muffled by the hot cock stuffed between his lips, and Connor began to ride him faster, harder. Taking the hint -- or maybe even communicating with Connor over their link -- Sixty pulled out of Hank’s mouth. As Hank gasped to fill his neglected lungs, Sixty began jerking himself off desperately, poised right above Hank’s face. His LED was blaring red, and Hank knew what was coming.

Both androids came with twin shouts, so loud they must have woken the neighbors, Sixty painting Hank’s face again, and Connor’s walls clamping down on Hank’s cock hard enough to hurt. And at that first feeling of Connor’s orgasm ripping through them both -- through all _three_ of them -- Hank came, too. He growled, hips bucking with so much force he actually lifted Connor off the bed for a second, Connor’s free hand coming to Sixty’s other shoulder to steady himself. 

Hank’s come filled Connor’s hole, hot and wet, and Connor clenched tighter as if trying to hold it inside, to hold _Hank_ inside. His channel undulated, walls rippling, milking Hank for every last drop as Hank twitched and writhed beneath his partners, eyes screwed shut. 

And when the high faded, when he crashed down, his first coherent thought was one of love, gratitude, connection -- as deep and intrinsic as an interface. Hank regained his breath slowly, whimpering only a little as Connor pulled off his aching cock.

Sixty’s hand smoothed back Hank’s hair, wet with sweat and Sixty’s come, and somewhere on the edges of his consciousness he heard Sixty’s voice. “Perfect, perfect, perfect...” 

Or -- maybe it was Connor’s voice -- for the first time, he couldn’t tell. 

But the body that rolled off Hank’s chest in short order was definitely Sixty; the hands that moved up to grip Hank’s pecs were definitely Connor’s, and when Hank cracked open his eyes, both their faces were hovering over him, the glazed look gone but a dark expression of satisfied desires now burning in both of their eyes.

“Are you alright, Hank?” Connor asked sweetly, maybe noticing that each of Hank’s limbs had gone limp and his aching jaw had gone slack.

“Look at him,” Sixty sniped from the side, his wet fingers running through Hank’s hair. “He’s doing great.” 

“I’ll believe it when I hear _Hank_ say it,” Connor bit back. He lowered himself down onto Hank’s body, pillowing his head on his crossed arms. “Hank? You okay?”

A lazy smile overtook Hank’s face. All that interfacing may have changed some things between Connor and Sixty, but these were still his boys. “Perfect, sweetheart,” he said, and he raised a limp hand to rest it on Connor’s shoulder, thumb stroking the freckles there. 

“Told you he was fine,” Sixty muttered, but just as Connor lifted himself up to retort, Hank let out a heavy, dramatic sigh.

“Hey, hey. Enjoy the afterglow a little will ya? Why don’t you kiss and make up?”

It was a joke suggestion -- partly. But Hank thought about the way they’d looked as they’d licked into each other’s mouths, lips turning white, and he wasn’t disappointed when both androids looked at each other as if considering it.

Sixty was the first to move forward, as Connor sat up straighter and made himself comfortable where he straddled Hank’s stomach. In tandem, they reached out and cupped each other’s cheeks, and while Connor seemed to hesitate, Sixty leaned in, taking Connor’s lips in what looked like a gentle kiss -- chaste.

Hank watched, entranced, as that synthskin peeled back once again, and Connor tilted his head to tongue into Sixty’s mouth. With Connor sitting on Hank’s stomach like this, Hank could feel him getting hard again, and he could feel the rumble of Connor’s fans whirring when Sixty moaned a little into Connor’s lips. 

“Hey now,” Hank said, as Sixty got to his knees, presumably to get himself closer to his counterpart. “Feeling a little left out here.”

The androids pulled apart suddenly, blinking back into awareness as they looked down to him. 

And a soft smile made its way to Connor’s lips -- a predatory one to Sixty’s. 

“Hank,” Connor whispered. He ran a hand up Hank’s chest, then leaned down, Sixty smiling on them from above. Connor kissed Hank, then, warm and languid and soft, exploring his mouth and whining a little -- either at the act of kissing or the sensations brought on by the taste of Sixty still in Hank’s mouth. 

And when Connor pulled away, rolling off of Hank to his other side, Sixty took Hank by the hair and turned his head, leaning down and guiding Hank’s lips to his own. Sixty kissed harder than Connor, more insistent, rough. But damn it was just as good. 

Sixty didn’t linger too long in their kiss, either, but soon pulled away to nestle against Hank the way Connor was nestled at his other side. Hank managed to lift his arms to wrap them around the androids’ shoulders, to encourage them to rest their heads on his chest. When they’d settled, gone still beside him, he let out a long, happy sigh.

And they laid there, the three of them, feeling returning to Hank’s limbs, breath returning to Hank’s lungs, and Connor and Sixty still and silent surrounding him.

“Well hot damn,” he muttered after a while. “This is the longest you two have gone without fighting in -- fuck, _ever,_ I guess.”

Connor let out a little laugh and nosed into Hank’s chest hair. “I can’t believe you got Sixty to shut up.”

“And I can’t believe you got Connor to pull the stick out of his ass,” Sixty supplied -- but it wasn’t malicious. 

Hank chuckled, laying a kiss to Sixty’s crown, then Connor’s. The cool air of the room, compounded with the discomfort of a sheen of sweat and artificial lubricant smeared over his body, was starting to get to him, but he didn’t want to leave this moment just yet. 

He tightened his arms around them.

“So you two going to get along from here on out? Play nice?”

Connor stretched a hand out, laid it over Hank’s body, and Sixty moved to meet it. Only their fingertips went white as their skin peeled away, a shallow little interface, but Hank could feel the spark of it against his skin.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sixty said after a moment, pulling away from Connor’s hand to tug idly at a strand of Hank’s chest hair. 

“As long as --” Connor paused, and the way he curled his fingers into Hank’s chest then made Hank lift his head, look down at him. His LED was spinning. “As long as you’re sure you want both of us.” 

There was a twinge there of self-consciousness, the same that had wormed its way into Connor’s voice when he’d said _He’s better than me in every way_.

Hank’s heart broke at the sound of it. “Yeah, sweetheart, I want both of you. Call me selfish, but I like to have my cake and eat it too, thank you very much.”

Connor smiled against Hank’s skin, and the tension faded from him.

“Connor’s not really a cake,” Sixty mused, and Hank braced himself for some insult to come out of Sixty’s mouth. Old habits died hard, after all. But instead: “Right now he's more of a … creampie?” 

With a snort, Connor reached over to whap Sixty on his shoulder, as a surprised laugh burst from Hank’s lips. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, delighted giggles wracking his shoulders and jostling the androids tucked up against him.

But they laughed with him, content and happy and -- for the first time -- completely at peace.


End file.
